


No pixie dust required

by negi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Make A Wish unit, Support and Comfort, xiaojun has a crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negi/pseuds/negi
Summary: “Well, I believe in you,” Doyoung says. “And you believe in me. I guess we’re covered then, huh?”
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 28
Kudos: 194





	No pixie dust required

**Author's Note:**

> i joked about xiaodo but then they kept being cute irl and now i love them

Dejun is used to the patternly experience of a recording room: the repetitive takes; the tiniest adjustments given to line after line; the frustrations and satisfactions that waver within his mind as he strives for that one _perfect_ take. He’s been through all of this before—countless times already in the budding days of his career—so when he steps into the soundproof studio one spring morning, he expects the usual routine. What follows isn’t routine, though—at least not for him.

Doyoung records first. He starts with a last minute warm up, tongue rolling his R’s at different pitches and varying speeds. He takes a small sip of water. Headphones on, sleeves rolled up, hair adjusted. The music begins and Dejun sees him suck in a calculated breath through his nose. He sings.

It feels as though the wind’s been knocked out of Dejun’s chest as the first notes blossom from Doyoung’s throat. He thought he knew what Doyoung sounded like, but he didn’t—not in this way. Not this raw, unfiltered voice sung straight into a microphone and reverberating through the room on thousand dollar speakers. A light, airy spell winds through electrical cords and wraps around his entire body, chaining him into place on the couch behind their producer; keeping him bound to his seat with the strength of pure _passion_.

This is different from listening to Doyoung sing on an album—fully refined, layered, edited to almost unattainable perfection. This voice is something he’s never heard before, and it sends prickles down his arms and butterflies to his stomach.

Beside him, Jaehyun appears unaffected. He’s listening, of course, but perhaps he’s too used to hearing Doyoung work his magic to be swept up in his clutches in the way Dejun is currently finding himself. Perhaps knowing Doyoung for so long has prevented Jaehyun from seeing him with the same, awestruck eyes that Dejun is now viewing him through.

No, this recording is not routine for Dejun in the slightest.

After Jaehyun finishes his lines, they take a short break. Dejun opts to look over his lyrics sheet one more time even though he can probably recite his parts in his sleep. He just _really_ doesn’t want to slip up on his Korean.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through that paper soon.”

Dejun looks up and sees Doyoung standing over him with a friendly smile. His cheeks have a little more pink life to them than when they first entered the studio an hour ago.

“I’m scared of messing up,” Dejun admits, though he folds the sheet and tucks it into his pocket.

“That’s okay,” Doyoung says, sitting down on the couch next to him. “We’re here for you, as long as it takes. You have such a good voice, though—I bet you’ll finish in no time.”

Dejun feels pride swell in his chest at the praise. He has faith in his talents, but it’s always nice to hear someone with more experience echo your confidence.

“I really liked that song you did with Kun,” Doyoung continues. He slouches low into the couch and his eyebrows furrow. “Hóng… hóng…”

Dejun’s eyes widen—the realization that Doyoung watched his content, a shocking slap in the face. “Hóngdòu,” he offers, and he laughs when Doyoung snaps his fingers in recognition, as though the word had been on the tip of his tongue and he did most of the work; Dejun only helping at the end, just a little.

“Red Bean,” Dejun says in English.

Doyoung hums and nods. “Red Bean, Red Bean,” he repeats. “It was so beautiful—like _really_ , so beautiful. You and Kun have very gentle voices, I think. They don’t sound too soft or weak, but they’re very gentle. It’s pleasant on the ears. And I didn’t know you could play guitar!” He nudges Dejun’s side with an elbow and Dejun jolts in surprise. “So romantic,” he teases.

Dejun shakes his head, slightly embarrassed, but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

“It was such a good video,” Doyoung continues, gushing over something he’s come to enjoy, as he often does. “I wish it was longer… That set could be used for a full music video, don’t you think? I really liked it, really.”

Dejun rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve improved since then,” he says; wants his senior to know that’s gotten even better. Wants to impress him, maybe. 

Doyoung rests his head against the back of the couch and flashes Dejun a grin, all teeth and gums. “Yeah, you have!” he says, voice enthusiastic and honest.

Dejun looks down at Doyoung hunched by his shoulder—takes in his attentive eyes, his cheek smushing against a cushion, his hair falling haphazardly to one side—and feels his face grow warm.

When the producer calls for Dejun in the booth, he stands up a little too quickly and gets a bit of a headrush. From behind, Doyoung gives him an assuring pat on the back. He takes a moment to blink and regain his senses; steels himself and enters the little room.

 _“Whenever you’re ready,”_ he hears. He puts on the headphones, takes out his lyrics sheet, and breathes. Through the glass, Doyoung shoots him two thumbs up then pumps his arms in excitement.

Nerves wash away, and Dejun gives the producer a nod.

Dejun finishes his recording session just in time—he’s stepping out of the booth to the supportive compliments of staff members when the door to the studio opens and Taeyong walks in, bowing in greeting to familiar faces. Behind him comes Jaemin and Lucas, who seem to be reassuring a nervous Shotaro. Dejun sees himself in their newest recruit, and makes sure to give him a solid high five.

Dejun is leaning over to grab his windbreaker from the couch when he feels something cold on the back of his neck.

“Told ya!” Doyoung says. He’s holding out a fresh water bottle, still fogged up from the fridge. “You did awesome, just like you knew you would.”

Dejun takes the bottle firmly in both hands; runs his thumbs over the crinkly label. “I trusted myself,” he says, then adds (rather boldly, in his opinion): “Having you here made it comfortable, too.”

Doyoung lets out a playful, shocked noise and moves his hand up to Dejun’s cheek, giving it a light squeeze. “Cute,” he laughs softly, and Dejun clamps down on his water.

On the other side of the room, Jaehyun is saying his goodbyes to all the bodies milling about around him, so Dejun begins to think about the rest of his own day; free, now, from the responsibility of work. He can take Bella for her walk, if Lucas didn’t do it before he left the dorm. They don’t have much in the fridge in the way of leftovers, but maybe Kun will cook something if he asks? He has a list of dramas to get through, recommended by his Korean teacher… Maybe he can—

“Are you hungry?”

Dejun is derailed from his train of thought when Doyoung speaks to him; leans a little closer to be heard over the extra noise now filling the studio. “Oh, um…” Finally, his brain catches up and he admits, “Yes.” He has to hold back a gurgle when Doyoung takes his hand and begins leading him towards the door.

“Let me treat you to lunch,” Doyoung says, and Dejun doesn’t really have a choice at this point, but he wouldn’t dare refuse anyway.

Dejun isn’t sure why he feels a little disappointed when he sees Jaehyun waiting for them just over the threshold, holding the door open with his foot, so he shakes the sensation off and exchanges pleasantries with Jaehyun on their way to the van parked outside.

Dejun’s heard about Doyoung’s love of giving to his members, but it still doesn’t quite seem real that he’s now one of Doyoung’s members as well—Jaehyun’s too. Suddenly having 22 other bodies around instead of six is a very big adjustment to make, clearly, but somehow it feels especially surreal to be sitting across a table from just two of them. They’re very nice—of course they are—but Dejun still finds himself glancing at Doyoung all throughout their meal, as if Doyoung is his visual anchor mooring him in a calm, comfortable harbor. Outside, in the open ocean, things are just so _big_ and untraversed. Doyoung is familiar. Doyoung smiles a lot.

“—and the slugs _multiplied_ ,” Doyoung says as he twirls noodles onto his chopsticks and refills the small bowl in his hand. “There are so many of them in the tank now! At least they’re kinda cute.”

“Wait, so they have fish and slugs _and_ prawns?” Dejun asks.

Doyoung nods. “I think it’s way more than Johnny was expecting, but he just let Taeyong have them. Otherwise he might’ve been talked into keeping millipedes.”

Dejun pauses while reaching for the fried rice in the middle of the table. “Millipedes? Like, that creepy bug with lots of legs? Why would anyone agree to that?”

Doyoung shakes his head quickly and Jaehyun laughs, knowing where this is going. “You haven’t seen Taeyong at his worst yet!” he insists. “He’ll ask for something over and over again, and he can be really good at aegyo when he wants to be, right? So he puts on this cute voice and makes his eyes all big, a pout on his face…”

Beside him, Jaehyun mimics Taeyong begging, and Doyoung barks out a laugh.

“Exactly!” he says, pointing at Jaehyun. “That’s exactly it, oh my god. So he breaks you down by being annoying _and_ cute, and Johnny can’t always resist.”

“He’s softer than he likes to admit to new people,” Jaehyun snorts. “Like that time he pretended he forgot your birthday?”

Doyoung hits his hand on the table. “Right! The way he was acting felt so natural, I really believed him. But he got me that designer shirt.”

“Oh, the blue one?” Jaehyun asks. “That one looks really good on you.”

“Doesn’t it?”

From the other side of the table, Dejun watches in amusement as Doyoung and Jaehyun trail off into tangent after tangent, one hilarious memory leading into another. The friendly banter is fun to witness, but Dejun is getting that feeling again—the one that washed over him for just a second when he realized that Jaehyun would be joining them for lunch. Soon he’s pulled back into the conversation, but curiosity continues to pick at his brain.

It takes Dejun until dessert—Melona ice cream bars from a nearby convenience store—to realize that Jaehyun knows Doyoung inside and out, and he wants to be able to say that too.

Some time during their second day of dance practice, Dejun musters up the courage to offer his own input. It’s daunting at first, the idea of sharing half-baked thoughts with members he—for the most part—has yet to build a certain repertoire with, but the practice room is a safe space built from the blood, sweat, and tears of people who understand what each and every person in that space is going through. Dejun says that he’d like to try turning his head one way instead of the other when he’s in the center, and he’s met with a chorus of encouraging agreement. By breaktime, he feels a familiar camaraderie within those familiar soundproof walls.

“I really like that thing you did when you were free-styling,” Taeyong comments, voice slightly muffled as he presses a towel to his sweaty face.

“Oh! Thank you,” Dejun says. “I thought it fit with the music during that part. I don’t know how much of it the choreographer will use, though.”

Taeyong rests his towel over one shoulder and ruffles Dejun’s damp hair. “He was super impressed with all of your suggestions,” he insists.

And sure enough, come next practice session, their choreographer shows them new tweaks to their dance that include many of Dejun’s additions. Dejun is used to participating in the creative process—WayV is a collaborative effort with a lot of talent to offer each other—but to be so quickly and easily accepted in such a new environment comes with a sense of well-deserved pride.

All of the other members seem to get the hang of these fresh changes— all but one.

“Dejun?” Doyoung whispers to him while a translator works with Shotaro and the choreographer.

Dejun shivers at the soft, delicate sound. “What’s up?”

“Um, that thing…” Doyoung mimics a specific hand flourish, albeit poorly. “You came up with it, right?”

Dejun nods.

“I can’t seem to get it right,” Doyoung admits with a small pout. “It’s really cool, but I just don’t look as good doing it as the others do. Can you help me?”

“Of course!” Dejun says quickly. The idea of comforting and encouraging Doyoung suddenly grows so, so appealing. “You don’t do it that badly, though.”

 _“That_ badly,” Doyoung teases with a playful snort.

Dejun waves his hands quickly. “No, I didn’t mean it like that!”

Doyoung’s face settles into a relaxed smile. “I know,” he says, touching Dejun’s shoulder. “And thank you.”

Dejun stands with Doyoung, side by side—meets his large, gentle eyes in the mirror before them, and feels a second wind coming on.

Styling always makes Dejun a bit nervous. Never knowing what color your hair will be once the tin foil comes off can do that to a person. Yellow-blonde isn’t too bad, though, and his members— _his_ members—whistle and holler at him enough to kick any self conscious thoughts right out the door.

“Handsome!” Doyoung calls from his own salon chair, and Dejun blushes.

The outfits for their music video aren’t the flashiest, but once each of them are swathed in layers of gold and pearls, they have the grandest time playing with the extravagant accessories. Lucas does a princely skit with Jaemin, and Jaehyun hops around while watching how much his costume jewelry jingles and jangles. Shotaro takes in the filming set with awe-struck eyes, and Taeyong giggles at him affectionately. Doyoung wants to take photos.

“Get me in this lighting?” he asks, handing Dejun his phone before walking towards a purple-tinted section of the stage.

Dejun obediently snaps a few pictures, but when he lowers the camera to let Doyoung know he got them, he has to pause. Simply looking through a digital lens doesn’t compare to what can be seen in person. Doyoung—glittering gold and bathed in a dream-like lilac—is beautiful. Ethereal.

“Let me take some of you!” Doyoung says.

Dejun is thrown off guard at how naturally he just waxed poetic about his groupmate, so he doesn’t really know what poses he’s doing or how sultry—or dumb—his face may look as Doyoung takes his time snapping photos of him. Even when Doyoung gets right in his face at an angle that _surely_ must be ridiculous, he doesn’t have the mind to protest.

Finally, Doyoung tucks his phone away. “So handsome,” he coos again.

Dejun glances down, embarrassed. “Can I see them?” he asks. He knows that Doyoung is planning to launch his Instagram soon, and it would be a shame for Dejun’s debut on it to be an unflattering one.

“Hmm…” Doyoung brushes a light touch against the back of Dejun’s downturned head. “Maybe someday,” he hums, and Dejun’s brain stutters at the thought of Doyoung keeping his photos for himself, possibly.

Their comeback stage arrives faster than Dejun anticipated. This whole multi-unit, melting pot of members concept had been so long in the making—months upon months of preparation with so much jam-packed into their schedules that Dejun often lost track of what day it was—that Dejun almost expected their first performance to never truly come. Suddenly, though, it’s _tomorrow_ , and he feels—despite everything he’s poured his heart and dedication into—that he isn’t ready.

“You coming home?” Lucas asks once he’s changed out of his sweaty practice clothes and Dejun is still wearing his.

“In a bit,” Dejun says, never taking his eyes off of his reflection in the wall of mirrors. “I’ll call the manager when I need to get picked up.”

Lucas knows what it’s like to strive for perfection—they all do—so he nods his head, wishes Dejun a goodnight, and reminds him to drink water on his way out.

It’s late and Dejun is the last one still there, but he kind of likes it that way. He has the space and the quiet to gather his thoughts—or to empty his head of all worries and unwind, if that would be better. After another twenty minutes of stressing over a dance that he _knows_ he can perform blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back, he decides that not thinking anymore sounds quite appealing.

 _‘Air,’_ he thinks, so he heads to the roof. A cool breeze sends goosebumps along his bare, sweat-sticky arms, but it’s welcoming after the hours spent cooped up in a room full of lingering body heat.

He’s never been on the roof this late before and it’s a wonderful sight, for a bustling city. He can’t really see any stars, but as he leans against the concrete railing, he thinks that the lights twinkling from buildings and cars have their own industrial charm. There’s noise all around him, and yet he feels removed from it all up here—a lone bird perched in a nest in a tree with a whole forest of lives existing below him, none of them aware of his existence hidden in the branches. None of them pervious to all the adrenaline thrumming beneath his skin.

_“Achoo!”_

Dejun realizes, with a start, that he isn’t actually alone. He whips around, eyes darting wildly across the dimly lit patio space, and sees a figure sitting on a bench in the middle of the roof. Upon staring for a few more seconds, he registers that it’s Doyoung beneath that tan colored cap.

He means to ask _“What are you doing here?”_ but his tongue is twisted and what comes out instead is: “What’re doing?” It’s understandable enough, he tells himself.

Doyoung seems to get it, too. “I couldn’t sleep,” he sighs. “Sit?” He pats the cushion at his side and Dejun joins him. “I thought I’d come here to sing, but nothing’s sounding right. My mind is too restless. I can’t focus.”

Dejun blinks. “Hyung, are you nervous?” he asks. He knows that nerves never go away completely in this line of work, but Doyoung has been through this so many times and he never _looks_ anything other than professional.

“Of course,” Doyoung says with a small huff, breath coming out in a visible cloud. “I want this project to be as amazing as I know it can be. Our members can do great things. I have to do my part too.”

“You’re always flawless,” Dejun says. 

“I’m not, but I’m glad you have confidence in me.” Doyoung leans his head against Dejun’s shoulder. “You have confidence in yourself too, right?”

Dejun fiddles with the hem of his T-shirt. “It’s… overwhelming,” he admits. “Like you said, I want to do my part. I know I’ll give it my all, but it’s just…”

“A question of if your all is enough,” Doyoung finishes.

Dejun nods.

“Well, I believe in you,” Doyoung says. “And you believe in me. I guess we’re covered then, huh?” He laughs. The sound reverberates against Dejun’s shoulder and seeps into his chest.

They don’t say much else, but that’s okay. It’s nice just sitting together and looking up at a dark, empty sky full of daunting dreams and endless potential. Dejun isn’t sure how long they stay huddled side by side, but he knows that it’s calming his nerves and settling his mind more than pushing himself to exhaustion ever could.

Doyoung is welcoming and understanding; never looked down on Dejun or expected him to fall behind as the new kid still learning his fourth language. Doyoung isn’t the only kind hearted member—all of them would jump at the chance to cheer him up—but, for whatever reason, Doyoung is the one the universe decided to place in Dejun’s peripheral, and Dejun just feels _thankful_.

Well, he feels other things too. He feels Doyoung breathing rhythmically near his ear; feels the fluff of Doyoung’s hoodie brush his arm; feels the tickle of a faint perfume lingering in Doyoung’s hair—he feels all of that and tucks it away in a corner of his mind for another time.

Right now, he simply twists his wrist and pushes his fingertips through the thick air between them until he finds a palm, open and waiting. Doyoung squeezes his hand and tucks their interlocked fingers into the pocket on his hoodie; safe and warm and accepted.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAH this was short but a _struggle!_ canon compliant is hard for me... i had a difficult time writing something that i felt was organic and not just [wikipedia biography of nct doing things] ;; thank you very much to the GHFS pals for encouraging me and helping me out with this little self-indulgent project ; w ; xiaojun and doyoung seem to have built up a lot of comradery between each other already (hence the "faith, trust, and pixie dust" title reference), so i hope we get a lot more content of them being cuties!
> 
>   
> say hi!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/negibun) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/negibun)
> 
>   
> 


End file.
